


Embarrassment of Riches

by Willa Shakespeare (AnonEhouse)



Category: Blake's 7
Genre: Crack Treated Seriously, M/M, POV Alternating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-16
Updated: 2013-05-16
Packaged: 2017-12-12 01:44:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/805693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonEhouse/pseuds/Willa%20Shakespeare
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dayna tries to satisfy her curiosity. She does get a little success, but not anywhere near what Avon and Tarrant get.</p><p>(point of view shifts all over the place- bad habit picked up from early zine-reading where we [writers and readers both] greedily wanted to know what all the characters were thinking. Don't have the energy or interest to fix it, so perhaps you'll consider this a trip down nostalgia lane. Or skip it and read something else. AO3 is a CORNOCOPIA of FIC!)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Embarrassment of Riches

(If you are reading this on any PAY site this is a STOLEN WORK, the author has NOT Given Permission for it to be here. If you're paying to read it, you're being cheated too because you can read it on Archiveofourown for FREE.)

"Avon, I need your help." Dayna crouched beside Avon, talking to his boots. They were all that stuck out from the console he was investigating. Since she'd joined the _Liberator_ crew weeks ago it seemed he was always too busy to talk to her. She strongly suspected he was avoiding her. Which was really silly on a ship crewed by five people. This time she was going to wait him out. He couldn't stay under there forever.

Ever since he'd introduced her to Tarrant as his wife, she'd been looking forward to making it a reality. She'd finally mentioned it to Cally, wondering if the reason Avon hadn't yet asked her was because he already had an arrangement with the Auron. Cally had choked, then took Dayna aside to have a woman-to-woman talk with her. It was mostly along the lines of 'we cannot allow ourselves personal gratification while we are fighting a war'. Dayna hadn't agreed, and had put the question to Avon directly. After he recovered from _his_ choking fit, he repeated Cally's arguments, and added that he was old enough to be her father. 

She didn't see what that had to do with anything. She could see that getting married was impractical, and maybe monogamy wouldn't be fair to the others, but she was willing to try a group arrangement. Tarrant was very pretty and even Vila was occasionally amusing enough to be considered cute. Avon had turned purple at the suggestion and promptly immersed himself in work, as he was now. His flight had triggered her hunting instincts, making her more determined than ever.

Avon decided she wasn't going to go away, no matter how long he ignored her, so he replied, "I am occupied, as you can see. Can't one of the others help you?"

"Oh, no. It has to be you," Dayna said in her most sultry voice, enjoying the way Avon's boots quivered at the implication. She laughed. "Vila said you're the only one who knows how to reprogram Zen's sub-systems."

Avon backed out of the console. "And why would you be interested in that?"

She grinned. She'd found his weakness- computers. "Well, of course I'm interested in your work."

Avon shied away as if burnt. "Speaking of which, perhaps I should get back to..." He made a move toward the console.

Dayna sighed. "Come on, I just want to know how to access the sub-routine for the laundry. Zen keeps doing my unmentionables all wrong. Would you like to see?"

"No!" Avon ran his hand through his hair, exasperated. "If I show you, will you go away and leave me in peace?"

"Of course." Dayna said. "Really, Avon, I have better things to do with my time than try to get your attention. After all, you're not the only man on the ship."

Avon looked relieved. He'd seen that Tarrant was interested in Dayna. The pilot must have finally succeeded in courting her. It was a perfect solution. They were both young and wild. Then Avon turned thoughtful. Maybe Vila had wheedled his way into her good graces. He didn't dare ask. Dayna might take it as jealousy and focus her campaign on him again. Frankly, she scared the hell out of him. "All right. The sub-routines can be accessed from any terminal. You simply enter the request- so." He tapped a few keys and the monitor showed a list of choices. "Zen will be able to answer any other questions you may have." He gathered up his roll of tools. "I believe there is a fault developing in the teleport systems back-up. I'd better attend to it now."

"Yes, all right," Dayna said, studying the monitor. "I'll be here, or in my cabin - if you want me,"she purred. She kept her head bent over the console, controlling her laughter as Avon beat a hasty retreat.

***

"Avon! Tarrant! Cally! Help!" Vila's shrill scream would have been enough to waken the off-shift crew, even without Zen's emergency battle alert sirens blaring and the ship veering wildly. 

Avon rolled out of bed and hit the intercom. "What is it?"

"Federation! Dozens of pursuit ships, hundreds, millions! All around us!"

Avon snatched up the nearest clothes, freshly delivered by Zen to his bedside table. Even for millions of pursuit ships, he wasn't appearing naked on his flight deck. He slithered into his black leather trousers, and had a fleeting thought that perhaps he'd been indulging in too much ice cream. He was out into the corridor, still wrestling with his uncooperative silver tunic, when he collided with Tarrant.

The pilot steadied Avon, then yanked at his own trousers, fastening them with difficulty while he resumed course. He hadn't bothered with a tunic. His peaches and cream complexion coupled with a smooth, leanly muscled chest made him look the fresh-faced Academy cadet he still was, even after a mercenary career. "Millions of pursuit ships?" he asked, one lifted eyebrow showing what he thought of Vila's reliability. 

"All it takes is three," Avon reminded him.

***

They skidded onto the flight deck in tandem. Fortunately Cally had used the other entrance or they would have had another pile-up. She'd obviously been awakened too, judging by appearance; wild curls cascaded over a long, fuzzy, red-and-white striped nightgown. It was practical and comfortable, no doubt, but Avon had a sudden vision of teddy bears and hot cocoa sipped by the nursery fire. He shook his head and reached his station, shouting, "Zen, report!" as he did so. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted that Dayna was at her position- staunch and fearless as ever. 

Tarrant was already maneuvering the _Liberator_ around, shouting at Vila to get to the weapons. Vila was so flustered that he stumbled. When he rose to his feet, he thought he'd gone deaf. All the alarms and sirens were silenced. He turned to face the main viewscreen. All the Federation ships were gone. 

Avon snapped, "Zen! Report the present location of the pursuit ships we just saw."

Zen replied, "There has been no contact with pursuit ships for more than five Earth days. Your question is therefore meaningless."

"But they were there, Zen," Cally protested.

The ship's computer insisted, "There are no space vehicles within scanner range and have been none for over five days."

"What happened?" Vila asked, befuddled. "There were Federation ships all over the place just a second ago."

"Yes, millions of them," Tarrant said. He frowned at Vila. "If this is one of your stupid practical jokes..." he lowered his voice to a threatening growl, "I swear, the jello in the spacesuit was bad enough, but this!"

"I didn't! I wouldn't. Do you honestly believe I'd fool around with Zen?" Vila flinched as Tarrant approached, glowering.

"Oh, leave him, Tarrant," Avon said. He leaned back into his flight rest, with a thoughtful look on his face. "Vila is an idiot, but he does possess the rudimentary wit to keep his hands off the main computer. After all, Zen does control everything on _Liberator_ \- including life support. If Zen is malfunctioning, we may have far worse problems than a phantom Federation fleet."

"Ooh. That was a good one," Vila said, admiring Avon's inadvertent alliteration.

Avon ignored Vila with the ease of long practice. "We will have to discover the cause and correct it- immediately. Vila, it was your watch- tell me what occurred just before the ships appeared."

"Well, I don't know exactly." Vila squirmed. "I wasn't actually here at the time." He ducked as Avon turned toward him. "Dayna was here," he yelped. "She said she'd watch while I went for a moment- just for a moment- to get a drink. A vitamin solution," he added with righteous indignation. "Cally's been saying I don't get enough vitamins." 

Cally shook her head, "That was a week ago. You just now felt the need for vitamins?"

"Beri-beri. A sudden attack of Beri-beri, that was it. And maybe a touch of scurvy. My teeth are loose, I think."

"If we'd been attacked because you left an inexperienced girl on duty in your place, I can guarantee your teeth would be loose," Tarrant said.

Avon looked at Dayna. The girl had been very quiet. She was alert, seemingly poised for action, but hadn't joined in on the speculation. She shrugged. "It was very quick, Avon. One minute I was talking to Zen and the next all those ships just appeared. Vila came back just as I was going to call everyone. Zen seemed perfectly normal to me, but then, I'm not a computer expert."

The resident computer expert narrowed his eyes. 

Tarrant stepped in to distract Avon from Dayna's overly cheeky remark. "Zen," he ordered, "run a full computer systems analysis. I want to know the reason for the sensor display anomaly."

The computer made its usual system-checking noises (purely to reassure the humans that it was actually doing something while they waited- after all, Zen was far too sophisticated to possess clumsy switches or rotating disks). In a matter of seconds, Zen reported, "Systems check complete. All computer systems functioning at optimum levels in accordance with their programming."

"Fine," Vila said. "There isn't anything wrong with Zen. It was all our imagination. We can all go back to bed now. " He winked at Dayna. "If you're scared you can share mine."

"No thanks. I don't think I'd ever be that scared."

"Well, then you can protect me."

"Vila, be serious," Cally shushed the thief. "We must know why Zen is behaving this way."

"Tarrant, you'll start on the sensor grids, perhaps they're out of alignment. That might not register as a malfunction," Avon said, giving up on asking Zen for enlightenment. The computer had an annoying habit of telling him 'knowledge must be earned' whenever he asked a question it didn't want to answer. He got the distinct impression that Zen knew perfectly well why those ships appeared, and was deliberately withholding the information. 

Tarrant looked down at the sensor grids, set in the deckplates surrounding the main monitor. He'd never figured why they were placed there, but then the _Liberator_ wasn't laid out according to human logic. "Right." He went over to the equipment storage cubby and removed a set of tools. While computer work wasn't his field of expertise, he'd learned the basics at the Federation Space Academy. 

"And what shall we do?" Cally asked. 

Avon indicated the consoles. "Check for any other readings that appear abnormal. We need to know the extent of the problem. I'll be investigating Zen's main interface with monitor display and data recall. There is a possibility that Zen ran an old display."

Cally nodded, and turned to her console to begin running a test program. Vila and Dayna did the same at their positions.

Tarrant found kneeling more than a little awkward as his trousers clung so tightly his knees couldn't properly flex. Funny, he must have had a belated growing spurt. Either that or he wasn't getting enough exercise lately. He grunted with the effort of getting onto the deck to remove the cover panels and bent further over, to peer into the dimly-lit depths of the sensor recesses. He shone a narrow-beam light over the panels. Any discontinuity should appear as a broken line in the maze of silver webbing. Easy enough to see, once one knew what to look for, but also very easy to overlook. He concentrated, moving on his knees slowly, as he traced the connections.

Avon's task was just as inconveniently placed, high up on the sides of Zen's fascia. He stretched with one hand on the wall for balance until he could release the concealed hatches covering the linkages. The primary links appeared in order, so he turned his attention to the secondaries hidden behind them. Carefully, he used a probe to shift the primary links aside. He still couldn't see properly- perhaps if he changed his position he would be able to direct his torch directly into the circuitry. Concentrating on keeping both probe and torch steady, he edged around until he was flattened against the wall precariously balanced on the balls of his feet. That worked. It was uncomfortable, especially as his tunic had ridden up, exposing the small of his back to the chill touch of Zen's fascia, but he disregarded the inconvenience and the strain of holding still at full stretch.

"Dayna. Dayna. Dayna!"

"Oh. Cally? What is it?" Dayna looked at the Auron, who had left her console and come to stand at her side. Cally was tapping her foot, and appeared quite annoyed.

"I have asked you three times for your magno-scope readings. What has distracted you? Have you found something?" She glanced at Dayna's control panel. "You have not been running the tests. Why?"

Dayna grinned and looked past Cally. "I've been busy watching something much more interesting." 

She put her hand over her mouth, giggling. "See."

Cally followed the girl's stare. "Really, Dayna! This is no time to be ogling Avon and Tarrant!"

"Oh, but they're both so beautiful. Especially when you can really appreciate their charms." Dayna giggled. "Tarrant has the sweetest buns, don't you think?"

"Dayna!" Cally was shocked. 

"And Avon - my, my- mother Nature was kind to him, too. Isn't it strange how Zen made their clothes shrink? Lucky, too. This isn't the kind of show you see every day. The boys are rather shy." 

Cally stared at Dayna, hard. "This isn't Vila's joke, is it? It's yours. I had thought you more mature than to perpetrate a pointless prank like this."

Vila had been listening. He said, "Not bad, but Avon's 'phantom Federation fleet' slides off the tongue better." He leaned closer, "Avon's going to be mad, once he finds out. Better be ready to run."

"Oh, he'll be too busy to do anything," Dayna giggled again, her eyes bright with pleasure. She looked down at the chronometer. "About fifteen more seconds."

"What else did you do?" Cally asked, in a horrified whisper.

Dayna just smiled and kept her eyes on her prey.

Something in the intensity of her stare burned through to the preoccupied men working on the computer. Avon glanced down at Dayna at the same time that Tarrant turned and looked up at her.

Her smile was sun-bright and more than a little frightening. "Avon, Tarrant," she called out gaily, "don't worry about Zen. He's all right."

"What?" Avon asked, taking a step toward her. Tarrant scrambled to his feet, alarmed. He sensed danger in the air. He wasn't sure whether it was coming from Avon or Dayna, but he felt the electric thrill along his nerves that always meant something was about to happen.

"I just had a little talk with Zen, and I asked him to show me what it looked like when a Federation fleet attacked. Just for educational purposes. Father had me on computer tutorials since I was a baby. I like to learn something new every day."

Avon growled and moved toward her. "You wanted a lesson? You may just get your wish." Tarrant hurried to intercept him. He didn't know what Avon had in mind, probably Avon didn't know, but it seemed a good idea not to let him carry it out. 

Dayna laughed. "Time's up!" 

"No, Dayna!" Tarrant yelled, appalled, as the seams on his trousers let go- all at once and nothing first. With the quick reflexes of the young, military -trained, fighter pilot that he was, he snatched a length of cloth up and tried to cover his assets, which were currently highly visible. He blushed over his entire body. 

Avon stood, stunned, in all his glory, tatters of silver tunic clinging to his shoulders a moment before drifting gracefully to the deck to rest atop the pile of shiny, black leather that had been trousers a moment ago. Instead of blushing, he went absolutely marble-white, which went well with his statue-like pose.

Dayna clapped her hands and whistled. Vila laughed himself sick. With an effort, Cally maintained a calm facade, but her eyes wandered a bit, despite herself.

Tarrant moved forward quickly, and appropriated a large segment of silver tunic. He held the offering to Avon, who accepted it after a moment, securing it about his hips, then turned once more to Dayna. 

"Oh, Avon, did I mention that the seams go one minute before the rest of the fabric disintegrates?" 

Avon halted. He said nothing, but his eyes promised a hideous vengeance. With dignity, he turned and left the flight deck, Tarrant leading the way with his much longer legs. 

Vila was lying on the deck, rolling and holding his aching sides. Gasping for breath, he said, "Ooh, we'll all pay for that." He recovered slightly, and grinned. "But it was worth it." He staggered to his feet.

Cally turned to Dayna, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "I hope you are comfortable on the flight deck. I have a feeling you'll be standing night watch for a long time."

"As Vila says, it was worth it. I finally got to satisfy my curiosity. Well, a little bit of it, anyway."

Vila sat down on the couch before the consoles, rubbing his sore stomach muscles. He frowned as a thought occurred to him. "Hey, how come you left me out? I'm hurt, really I am."

Dayna patted him on the shoulder. "I have other ideas, Vila. Shall I include you in them?"

"On second thought, no, that's all right," Vila said quickly. "You like a challenge. I'm too easy."

"Too true, Vila, too true." Dayna went back to her position, still grinning widely, spinning plans for her next scheme. 

Cally sighed, "Well, if the show is over, I think I'll go back to bed." She walked off the flight deck, but sent a telepathic message back to Dayna. _Don't you ever do such a thing again- without me. I have a few ideas of my own._ She went back to her room, light-hearted, and with something to dream about besides revolution.

***

"Something will have to be done about Dayna," Avon told Tarrant. "Her libido is getting entirely out of control."

"Well, don't look at me." Tarrant glanced back over his shoulder to make certain the huntress hadn't followed them from the flight deck. 

"Why not you? You seemed interested enough in her."

Tarrant shrugged, then had to grapple with the slowly disintegrating fragments of his makeshift loincloth. "That was before I realized how much of a child she still is."

"A rather well-developed child," Avon said dryly. They reached Avon's cabin just as the fabric scraps each man wore completed their transformation into powder.

"Ah, Avon." Tarrant's hands covered only part of his embarrassment. "Do you think I might come in and borrow a robe, or something?"

Avon grinned, ignoring his own nudity. "You would look ridiculous in anything of mine, you know. Perhaps you should just go to your room as you are."

Tarrant whirled, eyes wide in alarm. "Avon, Dayna's coming! Let me in, please."

Unmistakably feminine steps neared, clicking with determination on _Liberator's_ deck.

Avon hesitated, then stepped back into the room. "All right."

Tarrant bounded past him, slapping the door release so quickly that Avon caught only a glimpse of Cally in the corridor before the door closed. Avon debated telling the pilot that it would be safe for him to leave, then decided to enjoy the moment a bit longer. For a change, Tarrant was neither smug, nor insufferably perky. Avon admitted he was often smug himself, but never perky. 

"Would you care for a drink?" Avon asked, as nonchalant as any well-bred host. "It may be some time before Dayna tires of the chase."

"Yes, thanks, I would like something," Tarrant replied. He located the storage area and tried the door. "Um, Avon?"

"Yes," Avon said smoothly, watching the younger man out of the corner of his eye while he prepared drinks. On a whim, he opened a very fine vintage. Tarrant was probably the only one beside himself who would appreciate it anyway. 

"Your wardrobe is locked."

"One must take these little precautions on a ship populated by thieves, rebels, nosy young women... and mercenaries," he replied.

"But could you unlock it now, and let me put something on? Even if you're not cold, I am." Tarrant gave an exaggerated shiver.

Avon sipped his wine, raised an eyebrow, then held the other glass out to Tarrant. "It suits me to leave it locked for now. There are other ways to warm up, you know, Del." Tarrant's flush deepened. Avon couldn't resist baiting the pilot. He wondered how long he could continue it before Tarrant took offense.

Tarrant stared at Avon, startled. Then he recognized the game and raised the stakes. Smiling, he replied, "That's very true, Kerr, old son. Why don't you come over here and tell me about some of these- methods of yours."

Avon blinked. He hadn't counted on this. "It will be a pleasure." He handed Tarrant the wine, noting with approval the way the pilot savored the drink. "I so rarely have the opportunity to- interact- with a true gentleman these days." His hand slid forward to rest lightly on Tarrant's thigh. "Ah, you , _are_ cold. Goose pimples all over." He looked more carefully. "Well, almost all over. You might be more comfortable in the bed."

Tarrant suspected Avon had already gone farther than he intended when he began the competition. It shouldn't take much more for him to back down and concede the game. And if he didn't- well, Tarrant wasn't afraid of Avon. He returned Avon's insolent gaze with interest. And it was becoming an honest interest. Avon wasn't bad, not bad at all, and he was certainly no child. "Only if you join me, Kerr." He touched Avon's chest hair, gently tweaking, then caressing. "Oh, now you're shivering."

Avon pulled back, disguising his reaction by reaching for the wine bottle. "I just need a bit more wine," he temporized, refilling both the glasses.

"Share mine." Tarrant twined arms with Avon, so that he held his glass to Avon's lips and Avon was forced to hold his glass to Tarrant's. He drank, slowly, keeping his eyes locked on Avon's face, which was pale and getting paler by the moment. This was fun. Deliberately, Tarrant ran his tongue around the shallow crystal glass, licking up each lingering trace of wine. "Good to the last drop."

"It is a mature wine, Tarrant, rather too heady for some, I'm afraid." Avon's eyes burned now, warning. He took Tarrant's glass and set it beside his on the bedside table.

"Oh, I don't know, I think I'm man enough to take it." Tarrant grinned. "You might enjoy an impudent, young type yourself. You'll never know unless you've the courage to try something new."

"Something new? What makes you think I haven't already sampled all you could offer- and more?" 

"I know, Avon." Tarrant moved forward, impulsively wrapping his lean arms around Avon's solid frame. "It's rather obvious," he said kindly, planting a gentle kiss on Avon's neck, before he released him.

Avon immediately whirled and stalked to the other end of the room. He turned on Tarrant, teeth bared. "Well, as you've had your laugh, you may as well leave." He opened the closet and threw a robe at the pilot. "And cover yourself up, so you needn't fear Dayna will be overcome by your charms and swoon at your feet."

Tarrant made no attempt to catch the robe, bewildered by Avon's sudden attack. "It was just a game, Avon. One you started."

"Fine. And you won. Marvelous. Go and tell the others, get their congratulations, too." Avon opened the door and leaned out into the corridor. "All hail the conquering hero!"

Tarrant leapt across the room, hauled Avon back by the scruff of his neck and shut the door, after a hasty glance confirmed that no one had seen Avon's performance. "Are you completely insane? Dammit, Avon, whether I like it or not, you're the leader here and a leader can't go around acting like that. It's bad for morale."

Avon laughed. "Still the Federation officer?" He shrugged out of Tarrant's grip. "Well I'm not and I never was. This ship is mine and I'll run it how I please."

"With that attitude, you'll run it right into the ground." Tarrant was exasperated. He picked up the robe and shoved his arms into it, wrapping it carelessly around him. 

Expressionless, Avon stood with his arms folded across his chest, waiting for Tarrant to leave. 

The pilot shook his head. "I will never understand you, Avon. Not if I live to be a hundred."

"Oh, you needn't worry about your old age, Tarrant," Avon mocked. "You know there are no 'Old, bold pilots'." 

"That's very true, Avon." Tarrant stopped, his blue eyes losing their baffled annoyance, hardening into anger. "And since I've joined your crew, the chances of collecting a pension look even slimmer. Cally told me how suicidal Blake was, and you look to be trying to break his record."

"Cally may talk of Blake, but you haven't earned the privilege." 

Avon's stance was more hostile than ever. Tarrant even imagined he saw the hair on the nape of Avon's neck bristling. Good, he'd stepped on Avon's toes and serve the pain right. He was tired of Avon's petulance and arrogance and lack of appreciation for Tarrant's hard work. Probably thought he could do a better job of flying the _Liberator_ himself, the stuck-up computer snob. Tarrant asked, "What do I have to do to earn it- destroy the Federation single-handed?"

"That would be a start, yes."

Tarrant slammed a fist down on the door control, just beside Avon's head. "You know, it would serve you right if I left. How the hell long do you think this crew of misfits would survive without me?" He ignored the open door, staring directly into Avon's eyes, only inches away. 

"Let's try it and see, shall we?" Avon hissed. "Frankly, I don't think you could teach anyone on this ship anything. You're all hot air and mouth. When it comes right down to it, Tarrant, you really haven't the stomach for a face to face fight. Oh, you're all very well with the dagger in the back and the flashy flying, but what would you do against a real man?"

Tarrant halted in the doorway. He turned slowly to Avon. "Is that what you really want? Because I'd be more than happy to oblige. In fact, right now seems just about perfect to me." He shoved Avon back, catching him off guard and followed up with a short punch to the stomach. It wasn't a particularly hard blow, but it must have landed just right, for Avon collapsed, landing on hands and knees, wheezing.

Tarrant stood, hands open at his side, watching the other struggle to breathe. "Damn." Suddenly finding the whole argument meaningless, and waking up to the fact that someone could walk by and see them, he shut the door once more. "Sorry about that." He knelt beside Avon and massaged the area he'd hit. "Just relax. There, that's better." The wheezing evened out, until Avon could spare the energy to glare at the other man.

He shook his head. "You're supposed to give a little more warning than that, Tarrant," he said, without heat. Getting the wind knocked out of him appeared to have started Avon's brain working again. No doubt he too saw the stupidity of the quarrel now. 

"Shall we try it again?" Tarrant asked, grinning. 

Avon sat down on the deck, rubbing his belly. "I'd rather not." He sighed. "I normally have my temper under better control."

That was an Avon-style apology. Since he'd got in the only punch, Tarrant accepted it graciously. "I could have been a bit more patient myself. After all, I should understand your position. I mean, captaining a military ship, with disciplined crew, is stressful enough. And you've got to deal with Vila, and Dayna. Along with the entire Federation."

"You forgot to mention a hot-headed, ex-Federation, fancy-pants pilot." Avon said mildly.

"Fancy pants?" Tarrant was insulted. "You're a fine one to talk. Look at the way you dress..." Tarrant glanced down and rephrased that. "Well, the way you usually dress." He tugged the too-tight robe a bit closer. Holding Avon so close after the sexual bantering they'd been indulging in had provoked a fairly predictable response in his young, healthy body. 

Avon glanced down as well, and smiled, letting his amusement reach his eyes. "It seems Dayna's plan worked better than she knew."

The borrowed robe was proving inadequate to the situation. You'd think a man who wore three layers of clothing on the flight deck would have a robe that zipped or buttoned instead of this loose-flapping, sash-tied thing. Mind you, the plush velvet and deep burgundy color made it quite a sensuous garment. Avon did display a weakness for tactile luxuries- wearing velvet and leather and the softest, supplest... hell. This sort of thinking was only making the problem worse. "Would you mind not staring at me?"

"It is my room," Avon pointed out. "Of course, you are free to leave any time you wish." Avon's pout was pure seduction, a fact which registered visibly in Tarrant's immediate response. "Or stay."

"I thought we had finished that game." Tarrant got up, and flushed when Avon stared at the pilot's groin for several seconds before looking up into his face.

"One round only, Del."

"I'm sorry, but I don't want to play anymore." With dignity, Tarrant reached for the door control.

Avon stopped him, with one hand blocking the control and the other stroking the velvet robe, starting at navel height and working downward. "Are you quite sure?" he purred, eyelashes lowered over eyes suddenly as black and deep as space itself.

Grasping the insolent hand, Tarrant pressed it against himself, then released it when he felt Avon's flinch. "I won't compete with you, Avon. Not this way. I don't use people in bed, particularly not fellow crew-members. If you want to sleep with me, then ask, Dammit!" He added, softly, "I won't say no."

"Because I am your 'leader'?" Avon asked, pout turned sour.

"No. Because I enjoy sex, because you won't get emotionally involved with me and destroy crew unity, because you'll keep your mouth shut about whatever happens, and because you just happen to be one of the most sensuous men I've ever met." Tarrant drew a breath, then added, "Do you need more reasons than that?"

"As it happens, I find them sufficient. And reciprocal." 

"Well, well, well," Tarrant remarked. "Does that mean I've talked you into it?"

"I think I may have talked myself into it." Avon looked unsure, his usual unflappable confidence lacking. "Of course, I have on occasion done things which I very much regretted later."

"On rare occasions, no doubt."

"Less often than you, I should think, and far more often than Vila."

"More often than Vila?"

"Ah, Vila, you see, never regrets anything. Except getting caught, and overlooked opportunities to do things to regret."

"That sounds a healthy attitude," Tarrant approved. "Particularly for a thief."

"Or a reluctant rebel?"

"Or a mercenary turned rebel."

"Is that what you are, Tarrant? I'm never quite sure what to make of you. You came to us out of nowhere, with no credentials other than a Federation uniform and a blinding smile."

"I'm sure you had Orac look into the records."

"Records, yes. But there are no reasons in your file, Tarrant. I know when you deserted, the name of the ship you stole, and the planets where you were later found to be smuggling contraband. I don't know why you left a well-regarded, well-paid position in the Federation for a hand-to-mouth existence where your customers reviled you even as they tried to cheat you, or why you returned to fight the Andromedans to protect the Federation. I don't even know why you stay on this ship."

"I had my eyes opened, Avon. I saw things that made me think- I was ordered to do things that made me sick. I had enough one day and I took my chance to get out of it. Being a mercenary was downright clean, wholesome work compared to my last mission. And no, I'm not going to talk about that. I paid for it with a year's gun-running in the face of my former friends. Then I paid the interest by going against the aliens and now I'm in the clear. I don't owe anyone anything. I like this ship and I like knowing I'll never be forced to do anything that would rot my soul as long as I'm aboard her. We may steal, and kill, and blow up a few innocents along the way, but that's nothing more than any hunted animal will do to survive. I can sleep nights, Avon and I can look at myself in the mirror in the morning. That's why I stay." 

Avon nodded. "Yes. I see. I don't know that my own reasons are that clear-cut."

"That's because you never know when to stop analyzing a problem. Look at us, here you've analyzed us both right out of the mood," Tarrant complained. "Normally, when I go to bed with someone, we're halfway done by now."

"Precipitous, aren't you?" Avon's grin was back, full power, not as bright as Tarrant's but just as devastating. 

"Quick reflexes. Part of being a top pilot," Tarrant said modestly.

"And does the Federation Space Academy test those reflexes?"

"Unofficially. Confine young men in the exclusive company of other young men in a training barrack for months on end, and some- experimentation - is bound to occur. The FSA prefers men as pilots, some theory about the male of the species being bolder, more aggressive in battle."

"Pity they never tested Jenna. She would have thrown them a few curves."

"Did she throw any at you?" 

Avon's grin was wry, this time. "Other way round, I'm afraid. She only had eyes for Blake. Tall, curly idealists were her type. I wonder what she would have thought of you?"

"Nothing, at this rate." Tarrant sighed. "Look, Avon, you've been dancing around the issue. Are you, or are you not, going to have sex with me?"

"I..." Avon turned aside. "It isn't that easy- not with me, Tarrant. I never know the right thing to do, to say. And that's dealing with a woman."

"Well, why didn't you say so instead of beating around the bush. Here," Tarrant said, herding Avon ahead of him to the bed. "Lie down and don't say or do anything. I'll get you started. Any time you feel like joining in, go for it."

Avon sat, looking like he was going to jump off the bed at the first sound. 

"Fine. Now lie down and stop thinking."

"This isn't Vila you're talking to, you know."

"Would be easier, I'll wager." Tarrant put a finger to Avon's lips, stopping the inevitable retort. "No, keep quiet." He shed Avon's robe and knelt beside the bed. For a long moment, he did nothing but look at Avon, examining him leisurely from head to toe. When Avon opened his mouth to protest, Tarrant stopped him again, and said, "That was to prove I'm not precipitous. Wait here. Don't move, and don't say anything." The pilot rose and padded to the lavatory alcove, leaving Avon in suspense as to his motives. At the sight of the jar of skin lotion, Avon stiffened.

"Oh, don't be so suspicious," Tarrant said. "There are lots of uses for hand lotion. Some of them are perfectly innocent." He took a generous handful of lotion and began stroking it over his own chest, moving against his hands, slowly. "It feels good, Avon. What have you got against something that feels good?" When Avon looked a bit less like he was going to bite, Tarrant touched him. Carefully, gently, just the shoulders at first. Gradually the muscles relaxed as he worked his way down the arms, stopping just short of the wrists when Avon's eyes narrowed. Back to the shoulders, then the chest, massaging, stopping for more cream, then on to the hips. "You have a beautiful body, Avon. Kerr. I wonder what you taste like." He didn't wait for an answer, but bent to press his lips against Avon's belly, where there was no lotion. "Nice," was his verdict. "You taste like your wine, Kerr. Expensive and potentially lethal." He licked his lips. "Do you taste as good everywhere?" 

The tech was responding, finally. Tending to Avon had aroused Tarrant as well, but the job in hand required all his attention. He'd already decided on the most effective use of the narrow, silver-sheeted bed. Considering his partner's inexperience anything really athletic or ambitious was out of the question. Adding in Avon's obvious nervousness, he would count the evening a success if he could get Avon off. His hands surrounded and teased Avon erect, the remaining lotion reducing the friction as he pumped, firm, full strokes to encourage further growth.

Avon sighed and closed his eyes, letting his head fall back into the pillow enjoying the sensations. He jerked upright, eyes wide and startled, when something hot and moist replaced the hands. This was unexpected- he would have thought Tarrant too proud to go down on another man, to put those perfect Alpha lips around another man's cock. He put his hand lightly on Tarrant's head, stroking the soft curls. Tarrant looked up, his blue eyes amused, without interrupting his rhythm. The pilot was at ease, fully in charge of the situation. In command of Avon. And Avon couldn't, at the moment, resent it. It just felt too good. He watched the curly head bobbing over him until it occurred to him that he could be participating more fully. He reached for Tarrant, who obligingly moved closer. But not close enough. He couldn't get a decent grip, not with the young man kneeling beside the bed. He tugged on what he could reach. After a moment's hesitation, Tarrant released Avon long enough to climb up onto the bed and carefully arrange himself over his partner before resuming his mission.

Tarrant was really very good at this. Avon had to force himself to concentrate on his partner. He stroked Tarrant's firm, warm penis, but he still felt awkward. His hands were too dry to pump properly. His mouth set in a determined line. If Kerr Avon did a job, by God he did it right. And he'd better hurry. He pulled himself into position and opened his mouth. He swallowed, throat gone suddenly dry, his body instinctively rebelling against his mind's orders. Tarrant shifted above him, pulling away as if he sensed Avon's repulsion. Avon grabbed the lean hips, tugging them firmly down. He refused to be less than equal with anyone, no matter what it took. He took Tarrant into his mouth, sucking hard. After the initial strangeness of it, it wasn't so bad. In fact, it had its pleasant aspects, not least the reaction it got from that smug young puppy who thought he'd teach Avon. Tarrant's whole body trembled, sweating and shuddering as he fought for control. Avon sucked harder and had the satisfaction of hearing Tarrant groan as he arched up, then Avon was pressed under the other man's weight, entirely occupied with mastering this new skill. He dug his fingers into Tarrant's rump, hard, slowing the plunging thrusts until he learned the trick of it, swallowing and sucking in perfect rhythm. His hips synchronized with Tarrant's, both men gripping and sucking frantically, competition forgotten in the overwhelming pleasure of the moment.

And then Avon stopped thinking and analyzing entirely as his body disconnected from his mind and went on its merry way unencumbered by logic.

***

Later he woke, sated and drowsy with a warm weight on his shoulder. Tarrant had squirmed around, somehow fitting beside Avon, his curly head cherubic in repose. In future it was going to be difficult becoming irritated enough with him to argue properly, but then Avon always managed to rise to the occasion. He smiled, giving Tarrant's curls a final pat before falling back to sleep.

***

Avon wasn't feeling quite so mellow on his second waking, hours later. He gave Tarrant an elbow in the ribs, not quite hard enough to bruise.

The pilot grunted, then shook his head, blinking. "What was that for?" he asked plaintively, rubbing his side.

"It was either that, or I dump you out onto the deck. I want to get up."

Tarrant yawned. "What's the rush?"

"I need to get up." Avon glared at his bed-mate. "Believe me, Tarrant, you don't want to annoy me before I've had my coffee."

"All right, all right." Tarrant untangled his legs and arms from Avon's, permitting the other man to get up. He pulled the covers back around himself. "I'll wait till you've had your coffee, and then I'll annoy you."

Avon stood, staring down at him, absolutely expressionless, then turned and walked to the lavatory.

"Hell," Tarrant said softly. "Should have known." He got up and retrieved his clothes then sat on the bed to pull on trousers and boots. He put on his tunic, frowning over the wrinkled cloth and headed for the door. He paused, with his hand poised above the door control. Then he sighed and straightened his shoulders. He was going to have to talk to Avon eventually, it would be better now than to wait, leaving whatever was eating at Avon to fester. He heard the shower running. Tarrant removed his clothes. Avon would be at enough of a disadvantage, without being naked while Tarrant was dressed.

The lavatory door was not locked, probably Avon assumed he'd gone. He walked in and went over to the sink, examining his chin in the mirror. He could see Avon's reflection in the background, clouded and vague. The figure stilled, then resumed its interrupted motion. "May I borrow some beard suppressant?" Tarrant asked, politely, without turning.

"Help yourself.You'll find it on the second shelf- near where I usually keep the hand lotion," was the eventual reply.

"Thanks." Tarrant washed his face and applied the suppressant, while he decided what to say. He'd never caught Avon in a direct lie, so perhaps if he simply asked a direct question, he'd find out where he stood. "Do you have a problem with me?"

The pause was even longer this time. "I think not. It was mutual, what we did. I am not angry with you, if that is what you were wondering."

"That was part of it." Now Tarrant turned. Avon was still in the shower, but he had shut off the water and opened the translucent door panel. He met Avon's eyes. "The other part is, are you angry with yourself?"

Avon cocked his head to one side, considering. A grin slowly spread across his face, making him appear young and mischievous. "Surprisingly, no. But I doubt this will be repeated."

"Too right," Tarrant said ruefully. He shook his head. "I might be able to get to my room and change without getting caught, this once. But I wouldn't want to press my luck."

"It's early yet," Avon remarked. "You should have no trouble. Dayna should be sleeping," he added, smiling. 

"Dayna." Tarrant stared off into a space a moment, visualizing her reaction if she found out about him and Avon. She was a sweet girl, but rather parochial in her views, and definitely too quick on the trigger. "I think I'd better go now." He grinned at Avon. "Anyway, I'm glad we did it, this once. See you on deck, Avon."

"Yes." Avon listened until he heard his cabin's outer door hiss shut, before he turned the water back on. He closed his eyes and leaned into the spray, washing away the lingering traces of Tarrant's scent. "I wouldn't want to press your luck, either, Tarrant." He smiled. "I could learn to love you, you see. And that could prove fatal, for both of us."


End file.
